


Pick-up

by MaggieMay19



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMay19/pseuds/MaggieMay19
Summary: Is there anywhere Dean Winchester wouldn't pick up a new girl?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Pick-up

I was all beat up, scratched and scraped to hell and I'd been in that pawn shop in Pierre for barely five minutes when the kid walked in. As soon as he did he caught my attention. He was just about old enough to drink in a bar, maybe, and was wearing a beat up black leather jacket that looked older than he was. Three days' worth of stubble coated his chin and his hazel-green eyes looked like they hadn't caught any sleep in three days either. In spite of all that he had a face that he musta stolen off of an angel because the easy, knowing smile he was giving me was worthy of the devil himself.

You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now. Okay I was young too but I wasn't some little pledge-ring innocent on my first outing to a big city. I've been around the block a few times. I can spot a good-looking bad boy when I see one and I was looking at one right now. I know they're bad news, too, but what can I say? My whole life I've been a sucker for a wicked smile and a sad story and to hell with the consequences. My last guy, we had some fun at first but soon he was just using me, bastard wasn't interested in my needs any more. After a while I just froze up on him. Well, no guy will put up with that kind of thing for long. He roughed me up pretty bad before he threw me out which was why I was even in that skanky place. I swore I would never be that stupid again but it didn't last. In walked this beautiful bad boy and my resolve flew straight out the window.

This new guy was young like me but I could see just by looking at him that he wasn't some wet-behind-the-ears, dime-a-dozen wannabe. He might have been young but he had seen some things, you could see it in his eyes. His hands were big and strong and a little calloused and God help me, I was already imagining how they would feel if he was to put them on me.

So yeah, this bad boy picked me up in a sketchy fucking pawn shop in a seedy fucking backstreet in Pierre, South Dakota. It sounded like the start of a bad joke, which was a good way to describe my life up to that point.

Although that's not entirely true. Someone thought I was a real beauty when I started out, I was treated like a trophy girlfriend. My first bad boy dressed me in silky-smooth virginal ivory, even paid to have some work done. He said it made me look like a million dollars.

It didn't last.

That first guy? Got busted a few months down the line, murder one. Last I heard he was still rotting on death row down Arkansas way. And me? I started on the long downward spiral that led me into that shady pawn shop in that nowhere town in fucking South Dakota. Don't get me wrong, I'm not knocking good old SD, it's just that it's somewhere people come from, not where they wanna end up. By the time I found myself in Honest Mike's it had been a long, long time since I felt like a million fucking dollars.

I got there just five minutes before the kid arrived. I was dusty and greasy and I'd been beat up nine ways from Sunday by my last man. I musta looked like a long letter full of bad news when that kid first laid eyes on me.

Wanna know what he said?

"Well, hello beautiful."

Who cares that it wasn't original, that it was the cheapest of cheap lines. It was the first thing he said to me and the smile in his eyes as he said it told me he meant it. He saw through the grime and the crime and paid no mind that we were in a store full of losers' leftovers. This young guy who'd already seen too much in his short life thought I looked beautiful. He took ahold of me, not rough and grabby like most guys but firm and gentle, like he knew what he wanted and and knew what he was doing, just like a man should. He looked at me with wide-blown green-and-gold eyes through dark-as-midnight eyelashes and the rest of the world didn't exist for that moment. I felt like I was special, really fucking special, for the first time in a long time. He barely ghosted his fingers over where I was hurt most and it felt like he cared, really cared, about what had happened to me.

"Sonofa _bitch_." He said it as he touched me, he said it soft and quiet but there was something in his voice that cut through to my battered soul. That's when I first knew there was no hope for me. For better or worse I wanted this guy, wanted him to want me. He could be the worst bad boy in all creation for all I cared, heading for hell fast and hard and probably bloody too, so long as he kept looking at me, talking to me like that. What's every bad girl looking for when she's had more trouble than she can handle? A knight to come to her rescue.

He took me back to his place, some crappy motel off highway fourteen. It didn't matter, I'd known as soon as he walked into that skeevy store that he wasn't a rich guy. Rich guys don't frequent sketchy backstreet pawn shops. The look in his eye when he saw me, the smile on his face when he held me, rich guys never give you things like that because, no matter how precious you seem to be at first, to a rich guy you will always be... disposable.

Let me tell you, in my experience most guys, when they take you back to their place, when they're stripping you, they're fast and rough and they maybe call it passion but really it's only impatience. They want to see all of you, laid bare to their stare, as fast as possible. If they even bother with any preliminaries at all they're perfunctory with their poking and stroking, getting it over and done as quick as they can get away with so they can get on to the part they enjoy most. Rich guys or poor guys, all the guys I seemed to end up with just wanted to fire their pistols, they never cared much about beforehand or afterwards.

Right from the get-go this kid was different. We might have been in some no-tell motel but he acted like I was worth something more than that to him. He had looked at me with lust in his eyes when we were in that crappy pawn shop but he could see I was all beat up and before taking care of business he wanted to take care of me. I'd never seen desire mixed with compassion in a guy's eyes before and it almost looked like love. It made me feel that maybe this kid could be my knight in shining armor.

He started by cleaning me up, seeking out every bump and scratch, murmuring soothing nothings all the while. He sure knew what he was doing. Unhurried, thorough, he deftly moved his beautiful, strong hands over me as he sorted me out. I started to feel that maybe I was worth something because I was worth something to him. I had been this beat up, beaten down wreck before he laid his hands on me but his agile fingers worked their healing magic then worked me all over, exploring every inch, and it was even better than I had imagined back in that pawn shop. When he did what he did I came apart for him, right there in his hands, first time in a long time, and he didn't stop there. He used his hands on me like no other man I ever met before, this young man with the knowing touch of someone twice his age.

When it was time for him to have his fun, everything we did together felt so right for me, too. When he wrapped himself around me he knew exactly what he was doing. When he squeezed me _right there_ over and over I fulfilled the wordless demands of his body with a keen readiness that surprised even me, reveling in the pulsing waves of fierce heat that built up between us. This bad boy was _real_ good, hit the sweet spot every time. It was as though we became a single creature, each bound up with the other and in perfect harmony. It was beautiful. We were beautiful. Afterwards he sighed a contented 'oh yeah' and it seared my soul like the most eloquent poetry I ever heard.

I lay in that run-down motel room feeling better than I ever remembered feeling, contemplating the whirlwind I had just experienced. The kid sat on the bed beside me and he kept glancing at me or barely stroking down my side with an unconscious half-smile, like he couldn't believe it either. I wasn't stupid enough to think that this guy would be (could be) exclusively mine from now on but I knew we had something special between us and so did he. Our first time and it had just felt so right. You can spend your whole life looking and still never find synchronicity like that. Until that moment I didn't even know that's what I'd been looking for.

The moment was broken when the door opened and in walked a kid, really a kid, tall and gangly and in his late teens I would guess, a high school student complete with a schoolbag on his shoulder. He called out 'Hey, Dean' then froze in the doorway, staring at me.

Dean. My bad boy's name was Dean. I hadn't even wondered about his name until now and it hadn't mattered.

"Dammit, Sammy, close the door!" Dean barked out and the new boy started, dropped his bag next to the door and quickly shut out the rest of the world, all the while his eyes still not leaving me.

"What's this?" Sammy asked.

"Colt nineteen-eleven. My new gun," Dean replied, and his angel face grinned, all down and dirty and devilish, at _me_.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a great deal of fun writing the fic from this perspective. Also posted on fanfiction.net. Thanks for reading.


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